James Swain - No Good Deed

“I’ve got to run,” he said. “Say hello to your folks.”

The sheriff’s Patrol District III headquarters in Citrus Park was a squat brick building that backed up to dense wetlands. Entering the lobby, he combed his hair with his fingers so he looked presentable. A female deputy with a name tag that said Lacko sat behind a sheet of bulletproof glass at the reception area.

“Can I help you?” the deputy asked.

He took out his Team Adam business card and held it up to the glass. “I need to speak to whoever’s working the Elsie Tanner investigation,” he said.

She studied him. Not liking what she saw, she frowned.

“How do I know you didn’t find that on the ground?” she asked.

Several clever answers came to mind. He buttoned his lip and pulled out his driver’s license and also held it up to the glass. She did not back down.

“There’s no one here. Come back tomorrow,” she said.

“You’re here by yourself?” he asked.

“Just me and T. J.”

“T. J.?”

“Deputy Stahl. He runs the Special Investigations Division.”

“Then let me speak to him. I visited Elsie’s property, and found a piece of evidence that may be important.” He removed the GNC sales receipt from his wallet and showed it to her. “It was stuck up in a tree.”

“What did you do, climb up and get it?” she asked.

“That’s right. I was afraid it would get ruined in the rain.”

“Is that why you look like such a mess?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“That sounds crazy enough to be true. Give me the receipt and your driver’s license and business card, and I’ll go talk to T. J.”

He passed the items through a slot in the glass. Lacko secured them with a paper clip and disappeared into the back of the station house. His earlier conversation with Gamble was bugging him, and he pulled out his cell phone and got on the internet.

Using Google, he found and quickly read a story about Amy Potter’s kidnapping in Lakeland’s only newspaper, the Ledger . The Polk County sheriff, a local character named Homer Morcroft, was quoted as saying that a demonic cult might be involved, yet he gave no evidence to back up the claim.

The quote bothered Lancaster. Saying that devil worshippers might be involved was like adding gasoline to a fire. On a hunch, he did a search of Morcroft, and discovered other outlandish quotes that he’d made over the years, along with press conferences posted on YouTube. Morcroft obviously enjoyed the spotlight, and seeing his name in the papers.

He looked up from his phone to find a man wearing jeans and a long-sleeve athletic shirt standing before him. He was built like a gymnast, with broad shoulders tapering down to a thin waist.

“I’m T. J.,” he said, offering his hand. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

Lancaster’s cheeks burned. Stahl had checked him out, and found stories on the internet about the cases he’d broken. He would have been happy if no one ever saw that stuff, but the internet was like an echo chamber, and nothing ever faded away.

“I’d like to talk to you about what happened at Elsie Tanner’s place,” Lancaster said. “I think I may have a new angle for you to consider.”

“That sounds good to me. We can use all the help we can get.” Stahl used a plastic key to get back into the station house, and they walked past a cubicle farm to a corner office. “You want some coffee? I just brewed a fresh pot.”

Lancaster never said no to coffee. He took a chair in front of Stahl’s desk and soon was sipping from a steaming cup. The desk was cluttered with family photos of Stahl’s wife and freckle-faced son. In one photo, the boy was wearing a baseball uniform and holding a bat. It made Lancaster choke up, and he averted his gaze.

“So how does the sales receipt play into this?” Stahl asked, sitting across from him. “Lacko said you found it in a tree on Elsie Tanner’s property.”

“I believe it fell out of Elsie’s pocket when she was dragged over to the firepit,” he said. “The sales receipt establishes her at the GNC store in the Citrus Park Mall an hour before she was killed. I think her assailant was at the mall, and tailed her home.”

“That explains how he found her place. That’s been bothering us,” Stahl said.

“I also believe Elsie was the intended target of the kidnapping. The kidnapper came onto her property, and talked her off her lawn mower. When he tried to abduct her, she resisted, so he killed her. Rather than leave empty handed, he grabbed Skye.”

“Which explains why Elsie didn’t call 911,” Stahl said.

“Correct. Her kidnapper got the jump on her.”

“What was his motive?”

“I don’t know. She had a reputation for being a Good Samaritan, which may somehow play into this.”

“I heard she was a do-gooder. You think she helped someone, and it came back to bite her?”

“Could be.”

“If Elsie was at the GNC store, there would be a surveillance tape of her.” Stahl paused. “And maybe one of her killer as well.”

“That’s what I’m hoping. If her killer didn’t come into the store, he may have tailed her from the parking lot, and we can spot him on the mall’s surveillance videos.”

“I like it. The mall stays open until ten. Let me call the GNC store, and see if the manager will let us look at their tapes. We’ll start there.”

The key to any investigation was to keep it moving forward, and see where it led you. Stahl placed a call to the GNC store at the Citrus Park Mall, and was put on hold. Covering the mouthpiece with his hand, he said, “Did you run any of this information by the FBI? They’re here, running their own investigation.”

“No, I came straight here,” Lancaster said.

“I’d like to keep it that way.”

“You want me to stay away from the FBI?”

“If you don’t mind. I had some good leads, and that bitchy agent in charge scared off my witnesses. She’s a real horror show. You ever work with the FBI?”

“A few times. They’re not the easiest bunch.”

“That’s an understatement.” Stahl took a business card off his desk and passed it to him. “If you ever run across this little lady, run like hell. She’s the worst.”

He stared at the card and saw Beth’s name in dull black lettering. Beth was a relentless investigator, and he could see her rubbing Stahl the wrong way. He saw no reason to tell Stahl they knew each other and spoil the party.

“Thanks for the warning,” Lancaster said as he returned the card. “I was doing a little reading, and saw that the sheriff in Polk County is claiming that a group of Satan worshippers may be involved in these abductions. Why would he say that?”

“If I tell you, will you keep it a secret?”

“Of course.”

“A schoolteacher was abducted in Lakeland last week. While the police were searching the property, they found the number 666 written in spray paint on the driveway. The husband claimed he had no idea how it got there.”

“That’s the number of the beast,” Lancaster said.

“That’s right. It’s from chapter thirteen of the book of Revelation. ‘Let the one with understanding reckon the meaning of the number of the beast, for it is the number of a man. His number is 666.’”

“Anyone could have painted that on the driveway.”

“I know. It was a stupid thing for the sheriff to say.”

The manager came on the line, and Stahl arranged for them to meet at the store before it closed. Ending the connection, he rose from his desk and strapped on his sidearm, which he covered with a baggy sweatshirt.

“Let’s roll,” Stahl said.

The Citrus Park Mall was a stone’s throw from the station house. Stahl parked in a space near the entrance between Macy’s and Sears and killed his engine. The deputy’s negative comments about Beth were bothering Lancaster. Beth was a tough cookie, but her track record for catching criminals was stellar, and more than made up for her antics.